


When I'm With You

by aac7



Series: Hilda & the Fawn [7]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fluff, Post-Time Skip, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: After their victory at the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Claude and Byleth confront their toughest opponent yet while in Derdriu for the roundtable conference.Feelings.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Hilda & the Fawn [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777594
Comments: 15
Kudos: 94





	When I'm With You

**Author's Note:**

> For Bri, who inspires me to write everyday. Thank you.

“What about me?” 

As soon as Claude turns to face her and she sees the mischievous glimmer in his eye, she knows he’s up to something. “Actually, I’d like for you to come with me, Teach. To help negotiate with the lords. They’re followers of the Church of Seiros after all. It’ll make things easier if we have someone there to speak on Rhea’s behalf.” 

Byleth thinks that’s a terrible idea, but wouldn’t dare say why out loud. 

She doesn’t get the chance anyways, because Claude is already wrapping up. “All right, everyone. Let’s meet back at the monastery next month. Good luck out there.” With that, their little war council begins to disperse, heading off to prepare for their journeys home or to settle in and defend the Great Bridge with Judith. Byleth, frankly, is still a little unsure.

“Claude,” she says, reaching out and grabbing his hand when he begins to turn away. When she touches him, something hot and tingly shoots up her arm, and she immediately drops his hand. “Can I talk to you?” 

He turns back to her, his hands now clasped behind his back. “Sure. Can you walk and talk though? We need to get ready for the trip to Derdriu. If we leave in the next half hour or so, we’ll make it back before nightfall.”

Panic begins to rise from deep within her core, a feeling that she still isn’t used to. “I…alright,” she relents, following him through the halls. “I don’t think I should go with you,” she admits when they fall into step with one another.

Claude doesn’t stop walking or turn to face her, but she catches him watching her out of the corner of his eye. “Why not?” 

“It would be better for me to stay here and defend the Bridge with Judith. The Bridge is the Empire’s key to controlling their presence in the Alliance. They’ll likely want to send units to take it back,” she explains, but he merely hums in response. 

“Judith can take care of things here, Teach,” he finally says, and she feels a pang of annoyance run through her at his lack of understanding. Something Manuela said to her in a drunken stupor echoes through her mind. _Men can be so dense, Professor._ “All she has to do is give them that mean stink eye of hers, and they would run back to their little Emperor Edelgard with their tails between their legs.” 

When Byleth doesn’t laugh at his joke, he finally stops and turns in her direction, his brow raised. She makes sure to look him in the eye when she talks, and doesn’t fail to notice when his gaze wavers. “I don’t doubt Judith’s abilities. I just...I would be far more useful here, discussing and teaching tactics, training recruits, even doing weapons maintenance.” 

“You could do that,” he agrees, and for a moment she’s relieved, but Claude isn’t finished talking. “Or you could spend a month of some well deserved rest and respite on the sandy beaches of the Aquatic Capital. You need a break, Teach. Or…do you just really hate the idea of spending time with me?” 

_Yes and no,_ she thinks, the feelings she pushes down around him fighting to be acknowledged again. “I don’t mind spending time with you, but we’re at war, Claude,” she starts, shaking her head. “There’s no time to relax.” 

“Hey, I hear you,” he chuckles, raising his hands in surrender. “Look, all joking aside, I need you to be there for the Roundtable. Most of the Alliance nobility are devout followers of the Church, if they see you with me, they’ll be more inclined to listen to what I have to say.” 

“So take Seteth,” she shrugs, and Claude visibly winces at the idea. “I’m the least qualified person to speak to a room full of lords. I’m a commoner, a mercenary. I don’t even have a formal education. They wouldn’t take me seriously.” 

This time, Claude actually has the audacity to _laugh,_ and Byleth is wondering what exactly is so funny about what she said. “No offence or anything, Teach, but have you _seen_ yourself? Ever stopped and taken personal stock of who and what you are nowadays? It’s pretty clear you’re anything but common anymore. You have the exact same hair and eyes as Rhea, who made you the leader of the Church in her stead, not Seteth. Despite not having a formal education, you were a professor at the prestigious Officer’s Academy, where our class average was higher than the ones led by experienced educators. If they still don’t take you seriously, then you can just pull out the most powerful weapon in all of Fódlan and _make them._ ”

She narrows her eyes at him, his words hitting her in a place so deep that she’s actually considering them. Could she really make a difference? Would she really be helpful in a room full of politicians? She’d heard stories about the vicious, backstabbing nature of the Roundtable conferences. She wasn’t well versed in the world of politics. All she knows is battle. Drop her in the middle of a battlefield and she’ll cut her way out without breaking a sweat, but she remembered the Officer’s Academy faculty meetings. She was awkward, she didn’t speak loudly enough, and she never voiced her opinions. 

Byleth is about to argue again, but Claude places a hand on her shoulder, and the words get stuck in her throat. His touch is searing, and she can’t focus on much else. He lowers his head so they’re eye to eye, and she swallows thickly. “I need you there, not Seteth. You’re the one who can speak to our position in the war. Most importantly, you understand me better than anyone. You know what I want and need to happen for us to put an end to the war. I can’t do this without you.” 

This time his words hit a place deep within her core, and she hopes the heat she feels creeping up her neck won’t give her away. He _needs_ her. Was this not what she promised Rhea that she would do, all those years ago? Guide them, be there for them. It didn’t matter if she felt uncomfortable. She needed to be there for him. For her students.

“Fine, you’re lucky I like you, Claude von Riegan” she concedes with a sigh, and he grips her shoulder tightly for a moment before he releases her, a triumphant smile on his face as they continue down through the towers of the Bridge. 

“I knew you’d see reason! Also, I’m sure the word ‘no’ isn’t in your vocabulary when your favourite student is asking for something,” he teases, nudging her slightly.

Byleth rolls her eyes. “I’ve said ‘no’ to Hilda plenty of times.” 

Claude chuckles, casting her an amused smirk. “You’re teasing me? You really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you, Teach,” he murmurs, and there’s something in his voice she doesn’t recognize that makes her wonder what he really means by that. 

“I wasn’t teasing, I was simply putting an overconfident duke in his place,” she clarifies with a slight shrug. 

He recovers smoothly, flashing her a handsome grin. “Then I think you’ll hold yourself at the Roundtable just fine. Anyways, you should go pack a bag. I’m going to get Alya ready for the flight, I want to be in the air in the next half hour or so.” Byleth halts in place at the word ‘flight’ and Claude takes a few steps before realizing she isn’t with him. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re flying?” She asks, and he nods. “I thought we were riding,” she mumbles, staring down at her feet. 

“It’s faster if we fly,” he points out, and she isn’t at all concerned by the length of travel. 

“Yes, but...It’s just that I haven’t flown in a while,” she says, and it’s not exactly a lie. She hasn’t flown since the Academy. “I would just slow you down.” 

“That’s not a problem, you can fly with me on Alya,” he offers easily, and Byleth huffs. _Dense._

“Won’t it be better if we ride? I mean, what if we get ambushed? It’s easier to fight on the ground than in the air,” she tries, and when she faces Claude again, he looks confused.

“We’ll be fine either way,” he assures her, but Byleth isn’t so easily reassured. “It’ll take way too long to ride, we’d have to make too many stops along the way. If we fly, we’ll be there in a couple of hours.” 

“Yes, I know but—”

“Are you scared of flying?” He asks, it’s a simple enough question, but she feels the heat creep up her neck. Byleth doesn’t have a problem with flying in particular, in fact she enjoyed it. It was something else she wasn’t fond of. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of you know. I was scared my first few times.” 

“Not flying exactly,” she mutters, embarrassed at how childish she sounded. “Maybe you should take Seteth with you. He can fly on his wyvern, you’ll be there in no time and he’ll even—”

“Byleth,” he interrupts firmly, the use of her name silencing her. “I’m not taking Seteth, I’m taking you. So you can tell me what you’re worried about now, or you can scream it to me after I’ve tied you to Alya’s saddle and we’re thousands of feet in the air.” 

“Falling, Claude,” she snaps, surprising herself even with the shakiness of her voice. “I’m scared of _falling_ ,” she adds forcefully, and she sees the realization wash over his features. When she closes her eyes, she can hear the wind howling around her, seemingly cutting into her skin. She saw the rocks falling around her like rain, remnants of the ledge she had fallen off. 

It only stopped when her body hit the ground and shattered, and she lost five years of her life. With flying came the possibility of falling, and what if she didn’t wake up the next time? 

He reaches out, taking her hands in his own, squeezing lightly. “I won’t let you fall,” he promises. “You’re stuck with me now, my friend. I’m not letting you go ever again.” 

Byleth raises her head to look him in the eye, and this time, his gaze does not waver. His eyes are bright, determined. The same eyes that told her they were brought together by fate. 

Once again, she believes him. 

  
  
  


~~~

  
  


Claude doesn’t let her fall.

He couldn’t, really. She had sat behind him in the saddle, and had surely squeezed the air from him due to the iron grip she held around his torso. 

Had she not been deathly afraid of falling, she would have been very conscious of how close their bodies were for hours. But being thousands of feet in the air, she thought little of the way her body pressed tightly against him, all her energy dedicated to not falling out of the saddle as Alya flew at top speed. The sooner she was on the ground, the better, Claude had argued. 

Now in Derdriu with her feet on the ground, Byleth is beyond relief. She allows herself a moment to take in her surroundings. The air here is different from the air of Garreg Mach. The scent of the salty ocean breeze makes her nose crinkle when she inhales deeply, the night time winds gently and pleasantly cooling her skin. It’s...nice. She gives Alya a few strokes on the neck, smiling when she chirps happily. “Thank you for keeping me safe,” Byleth whispers, and Alya responds by nuzzling into her chest. 

“Come on,” Claude says when he’s done putting away her saddle. “Let’s head inside and get you settled into the Estate.” Byleth retrieves her belongings from Alya’s pack (her sword and a few training clothes), and follows him out of the stables. “It’s not as big as Fhirdiad or Enbarr’s castles, but it’s plenty cozy,” he tells her when they round the final corner.

Not as big. Sure. 

The Riegan Estate is easily the same size as Garreg Mach Monastery, only instead of being made to house hundreds of students and faculty, it’s the home of the leading house of the Leicester Alliance. It’s Claude’s home. The home of the sovereign Duke Riegan. 

“Let’s go meet my retainer, he should be in my study,” Claude suggests, leading her through the grand oak doors and into a large entrance hall. As they traverse the sprawling stone and marble halls, Byleth studies the various tapestries and portraits decorating the estate’s walls. She recognizes banners embroidered with the Crest of Riegan, a few with the Golden Deer or the Leicester Alliance insignia that Claude wears on his shoulder. Her eyes land on the final family portrait of the previous Riegan family members. Some names she recognizes, like the late Duke Oswald, and his son, Godfrey. There’s a woman in the picture with a name she doesn’t recognize, however. Tiana. She has the same green eyes as Claude. Could that be...

She doesn’t get to give it anymore thought, because the doors to Claude’s study fly open and another person she does not recognize walks through them. He’s coming directly at them, and Byleth’s hands instinctively move to the handle of her sword. 

“Is that you, kiddo?” The man asks, clapping a hand on Claude’s shoulder. 

Claude’s eyes flick between Byleth and the man, and he clears his throat louder than necessary. “I have returned, _Nardel_ ,” she recognizes the slight warning tone in his voice, and the man draws back, bowing in a manner that is both awkward and poorly rehearsed. 

“Oh, ah, Master Claude. It’s you.” the man, Nardel, corrects, a subtle mocking lilt in his voice. “I mistook you for one of the local children. My apologies.” Claude looks nothing like a child, not only in stature, but his uniform makes it clear that he’s of nobility. Also, his portrait is hung up behind them on the wall. 

Whoever this Nardel (she’s fairly confident that isn’t his name either) is, he’s a bad liar. 

Claude, obviously in on whatever they’re hiding from her, chooses not to notice. “It seems you’ve adjusted to your work here. Our recent strategy was successful, thanks to you.” Now Byleth is unsettled by the fact that his voice, usually carefree and dulcet in any situation, has slowed to a formal drawl. 

It’s kind of hot.

“I was a bit concerned when House Goneril’s army intervened from the east,” Nardel continues, and Claude sighs.

“Count Gloucester must have requested reinforcements from them.” 

Nardel nods. “Yes, and they have that young general who won some acclaim from his battles in Almyra…” Byleth knows they’re speaking of Holst Goneril, Hilda’s brother. They had met briefly at the Locket once, when Hilda had responded to her House’s request for aid in repelling an Almyran attack. “Regardless, they showed no signs of seriously wishing to attack us, and merely fulfilled their obligations to House Gloucester.” His gaze leaves Claude all of a sudden, settling on herself instead, as if he had just noticed her presence. “Now then, who is this lovely lady?” 

Claude, to her surprise, adjusts his stance so he’s slightly in front of her instead of stepping aside. “This is my professor, who I asked to join me at the Roundtable conference. Teach, this is Nardel, the retainer Judith was talking about.” Byleth vaguely remembers Judith’s description of Claude’s retainer. _He seems to have a fair amount of brain and brawn, with the skills to match._ Interesting.

“Pleased to meet you,” Byleth greets, holding a hand out to him. “As Claude has failed to mention, my name is Byleth Eisner.” 

Claude blushes, and Nardel lets out a hearty laugh. “Ah! Polite and witty. I like you already, my lady.” Byleth cringes internally are the word ‘lady.’ She’s really anything but. “I’ve heard good things about you from Master Claude. For the last five years, this one has been singing your praises. I see now why he has rejected every pr—”

“As you can see,” Claude cuts in, shooting a glare at his retainer. “He wasn’t born in Fódlan. Still, trust me when I say he is highly capable.” 

“True! In fact, my capability is my only redeeming quality,” Nardel laughs, pushing Claude aside and gripping Byleth’s shoulder. “I hope you continue looking after Master Claude, Lady Eisner.” 

He leaves before she can correct him, and she groans. “Is everyone here going to call me that?” She asks, and Claude appears to be amused by her discomfort.

“Well, you are the acting Archbishop of the Church of Seiros. It’s a form of respect,” he points out, digging through his desk drawer. “So, _Lady Eisner_ , shall I escort you to your quarters? I have a few things I need to run by you since you’ll be staying here.” 

“Please,” she agrees. “We can walk and talk.”

As he walks her through the Estate, he greets every servant that walks by, and they greet him with equal enthusiasm. “They seem to like you,” she observes as a maid blushes at his greeting. 

“They like me enough,” he hums, finally stopping in front of a door. He digs around in his pocket, fishing out a key. “This is where you’ll be staying,” he unlocks the door, pushing it open and handing her the key, which she pockets. The room is quite spacious for a guest room. There’s a small sitting area, a beautiful oak desk in the corner, and a comfortable looking four-poster bed in the center. Byleth immediately walks over to it, running a hand over the smooth silk sheets. 

“Comfortable,” she comments. “How far is it from the bathroom?” Claude answers her question by opening a door adjacent from the bed, revealing a bathtub. “Oh, this is mine?” 

“Yup. Only the best for my Teach,” he smiles. “Also, I’ll have some dresses and things brought up for you. I know, I know,” he says when she opens her mouth to protest. “While I have no problem with what you wear, the nobles here are still nobles. You’ll have to look the part, at least for a month.” Byleth clamps her mouth shut, unable to argue. So what if they hinder mobility and have no places to store weaponry? At least she’ll look nice. 

“Fine,” she grumbles.

“We’ll be having a little party when everyone gets here, by the way. Just a good way to loosen everyone up before the Roundtable.” Byleth makes a face. A party? In the middle of a war? Parties cost money, but so do wars. “Yeah, I know. Why buy new armour when you can spend it on some fruity champagne? Like I said, the nobles are still nobles. They don’t do anything without a little alcohol and a chance to gossip. Honestly, I think it’ll be a good chance for us to start drawing some favour.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” she nods. “I can play nice for a few hours.” 

“Great! I’ll let you get settled in. My room is three doors down if you ever need anything. I’ll come get you for dinner in about an hour or so.” Byleth expects him to leave, but Claude stands in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back as he stares at her, a huge smile on his face.

“Claude? Did you...need something?” She asks as he blinks at her. What could he possibly need from her, though? 

He jumps as if she’s startled him, his face flushing. “Oh! Uh, no, I just—I’ll see you at dinner, Teach,” he stammers before spinning on his heel and rushing out. 

_How strange,_ Byleth thinks as she unpacks her few belongings. She’s never heard him stutter like that before. 

~~~

  
  


The two days it takes the lords to arrive are fairly normal. Byleth rises early, does some training, eats breakfast with Claude, then stuffs herself into a dress and helps him look over some reports. They break only for meals and tea, and take lunchtime strolls together through the Riegan Estate’s luscious green gardens, where Claude takes the time to help prepare her for the Roundtable. 

As promised, Claude is hosting a party tonight on the Riegan Estate, and Byleth, of course, is expected to attend. Claude had told her to take the afternoon to get ready, and if she was being honest, she had no idea what that entailed. Even as a professor at Garreg Mach’s ball, Byleth hadn’t bothered to get dressed up. As a mercenary, she never had any reason to, and never saw a point. 

Good thing her friend was here to help.

“Professor, you have to stop doing that!” Hilda scolds when Byleth once again opens her eyes. She can’t help it. Her eye is being poked and prodded at by different types of brushes. It’s uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to stab you or anything while your eyes are shut.” Sighing, Byleth closes her eyes again and feels the eyeshadow brush swept carefully across her lid. When the brushing finally stops, she feels cool metal against her cheek and flinches back, opening her eyes. Hilda groans, holding a small metal contraption that Byleth doesn’t recognize. “It’s an eyelash curler, relax.” 

“Is that really necessary?” She asks, and Hilda doesn’t hesitate to nod, once again coming at her with the thing. 

“It’ll make you look cute! Just look down a little for me.” Byleth, sensing she won’t win, complies, letting Hilda close the curler around her lashes. “There! All done with your makeup.” She hands her a handheld mirror. “Tell me you love it.” 

She takes the mirror, staring at her reflection. She looks like herself but...better, in a way. The dark circles under her eyes are covered up, her pale cheeks have a natural looking flush, and her eyes look darker and more alluring. 

“I love it,” she answers, and Hilda claps giddily. “Thank you, Hilda, I truly appreciate this.” 

Hilda waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, stop it, Professor. You’re a great canvas.” Byleth is then pulled out of the chair behind a room divider. “Now, let’s get your dress on. I don’t think you need a corset, you’ve already got a lovely figure, let’s show it off a little, right? Claude is absolutely going to die a little when he sees you in this.” Hilda holds up a piece of fabric, and Byleth feels heat rise to her cheeks, no doubt accentuated by the rouge that Hilda had just applied. Was she really that obvious? 

“Why would I care what Claude thinks?” Byleth asks nervously as she slips the dress over her head. The material feels cool and smooth against her skin, different from the stuffy cotton dresses she’d been wearing lately. 

Hilda doesn’t reply, busying herself with choosing a set of heels Byleth doesn’t want to wear. She settles on some white pumps, and Byleth can already feel the blisters she’ll have tomorrow. “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own, Professor,” Hilda chuckles as she places the _Enlightened One_ diadem atop her head. 

  
  


__________

  
  
  


The night has only just begun, but Claude is already mind-numbingly bored. He hates parties like this. Parties are supposed to be fun, lively, relaxing. Whatever this is though, is the complete opposite. He’s working because he has a job to do; play nice and woo the nobles over to his side. 

Claude is listening to Margrave Edmund drone on about trade routes through Sreng when the doors to the hall open and a new guest’s presence is announced. 

“On behalf of the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, Lady Byleth Eisner.” 

_Oh, Teach is finally here,_ he thinks, absentmindedly swirling the champagne around in his glass. He’s already picturing her nose wrinkling in disgust at her title, bringing a small smile to his face. At least he can finally help her put a face to the names he’s been drilling into her head the past few days. 

Claude then realizes how silent the room suddenly is, and he hears the unmistakable click of heels, the slow and steady tread matching Byleth exactly. _They’re probably sizing her up,_ he realizes when even Margrave Edmund’s gaze drifts over Claude’s shoulder. It’s the first time they’re seeing her. He’d spoken highly of her during her five-year absence, saying that the _Enlightened One_ , blessed by the goddess of Fódlan, would someday return and be their salvation from this war. 

Claude turns around, eager to see the shocked expressions of the nobles when they saw the very woman he had spoken so highly and surely of. He wanted to revel gleefully in their reactions to seeing her goddess green hair and eyes. He wanted them to catch sight of the blessed diadem he’d asked Hilda to make sure Byleth had worn ton—

The flute of champagne Claude had been holding slips from his hand, shattering to pieces on the marble floor. 

Claude was by no means a religious man, but _holy shit_.

“Goddess, Claude,” Byleth leaps back, gathering the smooth looking material of her white gown in her hands. _Goddess is one way to describe her._ A servant immediately starts sweeping up the broken pieces of crystal, another handing Claude a new glass, which he immediately downs in an attempt to relieve the dryness in his mouth as he looks at _her._

She looks absolutely stunning. He’d seen her dresses and skirts before, but this was...different. In the best way. The gown was vastly different than what most noble ladies were wearing tonight. It didn’t have all of the obnoxiously puffy layers of tulle and chiffon, giving them shapes resembling pom-poms with a dizzying array of colours. Instead, the dress looked smooth and sleek, fitting every curve of her body perfectly, and leaving little to Claude’s imagination. He wanted nothing more than to remove his gloves and run his hands over the smooth planes that the dress covered. 

“...re you even listening to me?” Claude snaps out of his reverie, catching the impatient look on her face as she stares up at him. “Did you hear anything I just said?” She questions, squinting up at him. 

“Yes?” Claude tries, his voice coming out more strained than he liked. 

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “So what do you think then?” 

“I think you look great,” he answers immediately, and her brow raises, her lips curling upwards in—is that a smirk?

“Thank you,” she starts slowly, biting her bottom lip. “I was actually wondering what you thought about the party so far. I’m no expert but it doesn’t exactly seem like a party to me.” 

Claude wants to smack himself in the face. _Real smooth, Claude. Real smooth._

“This is pretty much how most pre-roundtable parties go,” he explains once his ego somewhat recovers. “Everyone is laying the groundwork for tomorrow. They’re all looking for ways to sway votes in their favour.” 

Byleth presses those pretty pink lips of hers in a tight line, humming in response as she turns to survey the crowd. Claude is left with the sight of her bare back, exposed due to the fact that her hair is gathered at the nape of her neck in a tight bun, embellished with golden constellation pins. Her skin, like the dress, looks smooth, the long faded scars even feel smooth under his touch. Claude freezes at the thought. _Touch?_

Byleth looks back at him over her shoulder, her gaze falling to his hand, which rests over the small of her back, his thumb stroking one of her scars. He’s touching Teach’s skin. _Byleth’s_ skin.

Claude pulls his hand back as if he’s been burned, hoping his laughter covers the shakiness in his voice as he says, “Uh, stray hair, Teach, got it.” He flicks the pretend strand of hair away, and luckily, Byleth nods, thanking him once before walks off in the direction of the buffet table. 

“You better make a move before someone else does,” Claude turns towards the familiar voice, Hilda seemingly having materialized at his side. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. She always seemed to be nearby when he embarrassed himself around Byleth. 

“Why would I want to do that?” He asks, watching as Byleth picks up a glass of champagne, politely introducing herself to a few minor lords. They stare openly at her, and Claude feels his jaw tighten when one of them takes her free hand, bringing it to his lips.

“Because you like her,” Hilda says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Claude is sure that even the tips of his ears are red when he hears the words out loud. “Not just as a friend, or a fighter, but as a person, a _woman_ ,” she continues, “I can see it in the way your gaze drifts to her during war council. I can hear it in your voice when you call for her on the battlefield. Hells, I saw it myself when you completely shut down after losing her at—”

“I do _not_ like her like that,” he denies, though he isn’t even sure himself if that’s true or not. There’s clearly something there, he just...doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s an idea that seems so far out of reach when he thinks about their current position in the war. It’s an idea that he doesn’t want to let himself develop because this is war, and war _takes._ It takes and takes until you’re left with nothing, and then it takes some more. “Just leave it alone, Hilda,” he huffs, shaking his head and walking away from her.

Despite not wanting to embarrass himself further in front of Byleth, Claude finds himself pushing down his feelings, whatever those may be, and hovering by her side all night. He guides her through the room, introducing her, talking her up, putting his plan into action. He’s showcasing the solidarity between the Church of Seiros and the Leicester Alliance. The solidarity between Duke Riegan and the acting Archbishop. 

He’s actually pleasantly surprised by how well she’s playing along. She didn’t have as cunning a tongue as he did, but she was certainly keeping everyone on their toes, and that included the insufferably difficult Count Gloucester. 

“I do not mean to be rude, Lady Eisner, but are supposed to just take you for your word when you claim to be blessed by the Goddess?” He inquires, and beside him, Lorenz grimaces. “You must understand that it is quite the reach to say you, a commoner, have ‘merged’ with the very Goddess that overlooks our country.” His eyes flick to Claude, and he adds, “Duke Riegan spoke constantly of your so-called miracles, but you must know how hard it is to trust the word of a dirty schemer.” Claude is about to defend them both, when Byleth places a hand on his bicep, her face set in her stoic mask as she tilts her head to look up at the Count. It’s a dangerous look, he knows. It’s the look she gave Solon after she jumped out of a hole she cut in the sky and took his head off. 

“I understand your hesitance, my Lord, but you must know that I wasn’t the only one present when this,” she gestures to her hair and eyes, “happened. Your son was there, as were several of his classmates, your sovereign duke included. The Sword of the Creator, wieldable only by those who bear the crest of the divine Goddess Sothis, responds to my touch, to my blood. I’ll gladly show you tomorrow during the roundtable, but understand this, Count Gloucester.” Byleth leans forward, her eyes seemingly glowing brighter as they narrow dangerously at the now fidgety man, her voice, while calm and collected, having an edge. “If you _ever_ disrespect myself or Duke Riegan again, I will not be as...civil as I am being now. I was no mere commoner, my Lord, I was a mercenary.” 

With that, she grips Claude’s arm, spinning on her heel and tugging him away from Count Gloucester. Claude looks back to see that the man has blanched, and Lorenz looks highly amused at the fact that their former professor had just threatened his father. 

Claude, unsurprisingly, found himself pretty turned on by the whole thing. “That was incredible,” he comments when they find an empty corner of the hall. 

Byleth releases a shaky exhale, her body deflating. When she drops his arm, he sees that her hands are shaking. “Did I make things worse for us?” She asks, her hands resting on her knees. “I pretty much just threatened Count Gloucester. He—he killed your uncle, didn’t he? That’s what I heard from Margrave Edmund. Did I put us in danger? Did I put you in danger?” 

He reaches out and grasps her shoulders. “Hey, settle down, it’s okay. We’re fine, alright? The thing about my uncle...it’s just a rumour. I’ll make sure nothing happens to us, regardless. You didn’t make anything worse, Byleth. He asked some rude questions and made some inappropriate comments, and you delivered him solid answers.” Byleth shuts her eyes, nodding slightly, and Claude feels her shoulders relax. “We have the support of four out of the five Great Lords. It’ll be enough to swing the vote in our favour by a long shot. Gloucester may not be happy about it, but he’ll get on board eventually. At the end of the day, he wants the best for the Alliance too.” 

Byleth takes a few more deep breaths, straightening up and leaning against the wall, her eyes still shut. Claude wordlessly releases her shoulders, moving to her side. “Sorry I freaked out a little. I guess I’m still not used to all the pressure of leading the Church. I just want to do right by everyone.” 

Sounds of a guitar being strummed begin wafting through the hall, and Claude knows that dancing will begin shortly. “Sometimes being a leader means putting your people before others,” Claude says, and Byleth opens her eyes, looking up at him. “That’s what you did today, you put the Church, you put _me_ , first.” 

“I guess I did,” Byleth sighs, and Claude pushes himself off the wall, peeling his gloves off and tossing them over the back of a nearby chair, then turning back and holding a hand out to her. 

“Dance with me, my friend,” he requests, seeing couples already beginning to make their way to the dance floor. Byleth stares at his outstretched hand, and Claude doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until she slips her hand into his, and he exhales silently. 

“I don’t think I can waltz properly in this dress,” she laughs, and Claude shrugs. 

“We can do our own dance then,” he says. Her hand is warm, and he’s still amazed that it is, despite the fact that she doesn’t have a heartbeat. He leads her to the middle of the floor, placing a hand on her waist, the other holding their joined hands in the air. Instead of the classic waltz step, they slowly sway back and forth. The opera singer starts to croon lyrics, and with Byleth in his arms, Claude finds himself intrigued by her words. 

_Wise men say_

_Only fools rush in_

_But I can’t help_

_Falling in love with you_

  
  


Was he a fool? No, he couldn’t be. He was far too smart to let himself fall head over heels. He knew the risks associated with love in the middle of war. Like he said before, war takes, and he’d lost her once to this war. What if he lost her again? His heart...it wouldn’t be able to handle it this time around. 

  
  


_Shall I stay?_

_Would it be a sin?_

_If I can’t help_

_Falling in love with you_

  
  


Byleth draws closer to him, resting her head on his chest, right over his heart. “Why is it beating so fast?” She chuckles, and he hopes she doesn’t catch the way his entire face turns red. He has the urge to pull away, but the feel of her against him...it just feels so _right_. It’s what he feels every time he looks at her. For a moment, he lets the idea develop. Could he love her in the midst of a war? Yes, he knew he could, but what would that mean going forward?

  
  


_Like a river flows_

_Surely to the sea_

_Darling so it goes_

_Some things are meant to be_

  
  


Her hand fits perfectly in his own, and his other hand fits snugly on the curve of her waist. It’s like they were made for each other. He’s said something like this to her before. They were brought together by fate. If fate willed it, maybe they could be… something more. 

  
  


_So take my hand_

_Take my whole life too_

_For I can’t help_

_Falling in love with you_

  
  


“Come with me,” he says suddenly, not giving her a chance to say no before he pulls her away from their spot on the dancefloor, leading her through the estate until they’re in his study. Once the door is shut and locked behind him, he turns to where she stands in the centre of the room, a confused and concerned look on her face. 

“Claude? Is something wrong?” 

“I like you,” he blurts out, and her eyes widen at his sloppy declaration. “When I’m with you I just...I can’t concentrate on anything else. Everything revolves around you. You’re the key to my victory. Not just because you wield the Sword of the Creator, but because when I’m with you, I feel like I can do anything, I feel like I can achieve my wildest dreams.” 

Byleth doesn’t say anything, merely blinking at his profession, and Claude feels like a fool. He did it. He rushed in and he’s going to get burned—

“When I’m with you,” she whispers, almost so low that he can’t hear. “I feel things. I feel happiness, excitement, anger, sadness, fear.” She pauses, drawing a shaky breath. “I may have been your professor, but you taught me something too, Claude. You taught me how to feel...and for that, and many other reasons, I like you too.” 

Goddess, is he relieved to hear that. “What are you feeling right now?” He asks quietly, gently cupping her cheek in his hand.

“Nervous,” she admits. “Because I...want something, and I’m not sure if I can have it.” 

“ _We_ can have it,” he tells her, leaning down so his forehead rests against hers. She lifts her hand and presses it against his own, closing her eyes. “We just… we can’t tell anyone. If this gets out, it would be dangerous for both of us, okay?” 

“It’ll be just for us,” she agrees, and Claude dips down, sealing their deal by pressing his lips to hers. It’s a tentative kiss at first, but it quickly deepens when her lips part, and Claude is utterly lost in her depths. He’s kissed people before, but none of them made him feel like this. None of them made his head feel light and his heart beat faster. 

“When I’m with you,” he breathes when they finally pull apart, “I have everything I need.” 

  
  
  


_For I can’t help falling in love with you_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I had the idea during a five am donut and coffee induced haze and had to get it down. 
> 
> For those who aren't familiar, the song I chose is "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Kina Grannis. The version from the movie "Crazy Rich Asians."


End file.
